


Moonlight Serenade

by fannishliss



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Kissing, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The basement scene in 'The Doctor Dances,' Jack doesn't interrupt, Nine and Rose go all the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight Serenade

**title: "Moonlight Serenade"**  
author: [](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/)**fannishliss**  
length: 3100 words  
rating: PG13  
pairing: Rose/Nine  
spoilers: 1.10 The Doctor Dances

author's notes: I do recommend that you start Glenn Miller's _**Moonlight Serenade**_ and put it on repeat while reading this story.  (If you don't have this amazing masterpiece, what are you waiting for? It's only $.99! )  
This story is in response to [](http://ahedonia.livejournal.com/profile)[**ahedonia**](http://ahedonia.livejournal.com/)'s prompt: "The basement scene in 'The Doctor Dances,' Jack doesn't interrupt, Nine and Rose go all the way."  This is my characteristic take on the scene so I hope you will enjoy it!

Disclaimer: "The Doctor Dances" was written by Steven Moffat, so thanks, Moff, you did a good job with this one.  The first lines of dialogue are taken more or less verbatim from the scene in the basement that is the prompt for this story.  Used with gratitude, for inspiration only, not for profit.   
====  


"Remember this one, Rose?" Jack says, then he cuts out, and the muted strains of "Moonlight Serenade" come tinny across the speakers.

Decidedly unimpressed, the Doctor can hear the smile on the cheeky American's face without even seeing him.

 Rose wheels herself insouciantly back and forth in the wheelchair, bored.  

"What are you doing?"   she asks.  

"Trying to set up a resonation pattern in the concrete, loosen the bars," the Doctor says, intent on his task.   

"You don't think he's coming back, do you?" Rose challenges.  She's trying to work him up.  

"Wouldn't bet my life," he responds, nonchalant.  

"Why don't you trust him?" Rose asks.

"Why do you?" Rose is a very trusting person.  He likes that she's open, non-judgmental — but there's always room for a healthy skepticism.

"Saved my life.  Bloke-wise that's up there with, flossing."

The Doctor ignores this.  The high whine of his screwdriver is his only answer.  

She hesitates, but then goes for it.  "I trust him cause he's like you.  Except with dating, and dancing."

The Doctor feels his annoyance move from slow burn to flare.   Rose licks her lips in anticipation.  The Doctor is wryly aware that his senses have become so attuned to her that he can actually hear her lick her lips from across the room.

He turns his head and looks at her — just for a second — then looks away again, shaking his head.

"What?" Rose prompts eagerly.

"You just assume I'm--"  A bit of an aggrieved tone has crept into his voice.  He tries to keep it mild, informational only.

"What?" she prods.

"You just assume I don't — dance." His voice has gone soft and high.  Is he that uncomfortable?   

"What, are you telling me you do 'dance'?"  Rose's voice goes husky, provocative.  She just won't stop until she has him in a corner.

"Nine hundred years old, me, I've been around a bit, I think you can assume at some point I've 'dahnced'—"   He mimics her southern pronunciation of the word in light mockery.  

"You?" she responds, in feigned shock.

"Problem?" he returns, lightly.

"Doesn't the universe implode or something if you dance?"

"Well, I've got the moves, but I wouldn't want to boast,"  he says, arrogantly.

Rose's smile stretches across her face. She gets off the wheelchair, turns up the radio.  The Doctor shoots her a suddenly nervous look.

"You got the moves?" she says, holding out her hand, trying not to laugh. "Show me your moves."

"Rose, I'm, I'm trying to resonate concrete."  Where did that stammer come from? His elevated heart rate and sudden hyper-alertness must be due to the life-threatening situation they've found themselves in.  

"Captain Jack'll be back, he'll get us out, so come on — the world doesn't end cause the Doctor dances."

He glares at her, but the sonic has gone astray.  He's forgotten all about his task.  She licks her teeth in anticipation.

He stalks down from the ledge he's been standing on to get at the window and takes her hands, feeling the warm, dry palms, frowning a bit.  

"Oh, we're calling him Captain Jack, now, are we?" he accuses.

"Well, his name is Jack, and he's a captain," Rose smirks.

"He's not really a captain, Rose,"  the Doctor smiles meanly.

"D'you know what I think?" Rose says.  "I think you're experiencing captain envy."

The Doctor shutters his eyes, his lips tightening into a smile just short of annoyed.   He wants nothing more than to pull her to him and swirl her around the room, giving in to the need to possess her, to move her according to his whim.  

"Is this you dancing?" Rose taunted. "Cause I've got notes. You'll find your legs at the end of your feet — you may care to move them."

She has no idea how horrifying the other Time Lords would have found this. They wouldn't have been surprised, he thinks—  the renegade Doctor, dancing with a human.  At least they're not in public.  He grips her hands more tightly.  The reassuring thrum of her pulses against his — the faintest whisper of her thoughts, soothing against his like a wisp of silk against the skin — he closes his eyes and pulls her closer, breathing her in.  

Dancing, the humans call it. Gallifreyans were more forthright — they would have called it foreplay — such bodily proximity would have overwhelmed any but the most tightly shielded and disciplined touch telepath — especially when the little human dance partner was giving out such powerful signals of attraction and desire.  

The Doctor knows himself to be a creature of habit.  Alone in the Tardis for so long, the silence aching in his head, he had dropped his defenses.  He went about in public wearing nothing more around his torso than a thin wool jumper and heavy leather coat.  But now Rose's heat is pressing warmly into him through the wool, her heart is pounding against his chest, and her soft, happy exhalations are rising up into his nostrils.  

Her hands caress his so very indecently, and she has no idea.  His eyes flutter closed as he sways with her in his arms.  How he longs for the music to play forever —even though it's a sign that, just as she believes, the "good captain" is still in contact with them  and might come to their rescue at any second.

Every second, for him, is as long as he cares to make it. There are some benefits to being a Time Lord after all.  Each little moment is infinitely divisible.  He could make this one dance his eternity, if he wanted to.

But Rose is still human.  Her heartbeats trip evenly along, and her time sense is mostly inflexibly tied to that inexorable rhythm.  If only she could feel their dance the way he does.  If only she could feel the way her warmth seeps into his skin, the way his body is analyzing and reacting to the chemistry of hers, the way his hearts are struggling to synch up with her strange singular pulse.  

If only she could feel the way his thoughts long to entwine themselves in hers, how he longs to give himself over to someone kind and pure, young and relatively undamaged, innocent in so many ways compared to himself.  

"You dance very well, Doctor," Rose murmurs.  He can feel the purr of her voice resonating deep inside his own chest.

"I'm glad I'm up to your standards," he returns, archly.

She looks up at him. Her eyes are so beautifully human.  They glow with warmth, with an invitation.  Her pupils have dilated, and he's sure that he's the whole world to her right now.  A Time Lord has no such luxury, so many senses constantly on alert — but the dance has fastened more of his attention on her than he can ever remember devoting to one person.  

The eyes are the mirrors of the soul, the humans say.  They're extensions of the forebrain, reacting almost instantly to changes in thought and mood.  Even without telepathy, Rose's eyes are intensely expressive.  They make perfectly clear what she wants from him.

He longs to give her what she wants — but more, so much more — the idea of him pouring himself into her, basking in her fire after so long in the cold — she's mesmerized him with her gaze.  Glenn Miller's band is working a siren's song, looping through his thoughts, deafening him to the world, even as her gaze hypnotizes him and blinds him to anything but the girl who's staring up at him so seductively.  

Like the falling of his Tardis through the vortex, his gaze falls into hers.  

There have been moments when even his modicum of control has given way.... moments when the Time Lords seemed an eternity away... moments when sharing his thoughts with a beautiful companion seemed worth any sacrifice.  

Now, those reckless thoughts seem truer than ever.  If not this woman, this beautiful, courageous Rose — then who? Who will ever touch him that way again, if not her? He'd been an overgrown adolescent for so many years, thumbing his nose at the mightiest of parents, running, playing, seeking his fortune and always deferring the reward when it was offered.

Now, all that is over.  There can be no more running away when the place he's run from is gone.  There are no more authorities to remind him of his duties, no more stern and disapproving guardians to chide him for his breaches of etiquette.  There is only the woman in his arms, her desire for him, the intimacy of her embrace.

"Can you feel it, Rose?" he whispers, his eyes fluttering shut again.

"What?" she says.  

He dances with her, really dances now.  Her right hand in his, his arm around her body, his other hand cradling the small of her back.  He leads her with his body, with his hips, his feet nimble in his heavy boots, navigating the space between her trainers with ease as he backs her around the room.  

"How well we fit together," he whispers, not wanting to break the spell.

Rose leans even closer, tilting her mouth upward toward his ear, and answers with a breath, "I've felt that since the first time you held my hand."

"Oh," he admits, blushing.  "So have I."   He turns her again around the room as the music plays.  His awareness of the threat they're under has receded far into the background.   Jack, as she says, will soon return, and now is eternally now.  

"Why don't you do something about it then?" Rose asks.  Her eyes, as always, flash a challenge at him.  Nineteen, she's more than a match for him.  Some might say he shouldn't take advantage, being so old, so powerful.  They couldn't understand how strong she is, Jackie's daughter, Rose Tyler of the Powell Estates.  She's what some humans would call "an old soul."   Sometimes he's sure she's wiser by far than he has ever been.  In his head, he tells himself that her safety is his responsibility — but in his heart, he's sure that if one of them is saving the other — it's Rose doing the saving. How he longs to give in, to give her what she wants.  If only he could be sure that what he wants isn't more than what she's offering.

"I, I want to," he finally admits.  

Rose's body feels fluid and light in his arms — his body reads hers almost perfectly by now, and every step she takes, he subtly leads.  She's perfectly relaxed, perfectly open.

"Do it," she says, with a secretive smile.

"You don't even know what I want," he objects.  "Alien — remember?"

"I trust you, Doctor," she says, and her voice is so soft, so welcoming.  "I'm saying yes."

"That's brave of you," he says. Does he want her to be brave, or to scare her away?

She merely lifts one shoulder in the slightest shrug, never taking her eyes off of his.

"Maybe you would be afraid of what I want," she whispers.

"What?" he answers, a little taken aback.

"You want to know?" she asks.  Her eyes flash, her smile widens.  

"Yeah," he rumbles.  "I do."

She breaks eye contact, leaning her cheek against his chest. "It feels so good holding your hand — so safe.  You feel so strong.  And when you hug me, I never want you to let go.  I want to stay there, inside your arms.  I've wanted to dance like this with you for ages — letting you lead, matching your steps, holding each other like we are.  But now, it makes me want more..."

"Yeah?" the Doctor prompts, his throat dry.

"I want to hold you like this — but I want, I want to touch you — I want you to feel my hands on your skin — underneath that jacket.  I want to kiss you .... "

She looks up at him through lowered lashes, and her lips suddenly seem the most luscious and beautiful lips he's ever seen.

"May I?" she whispers.

"Oh yes, you may," he says.  

And her hand slips from his shoulder to the back of his neck, her fingers carding through his close-cropped hair, and she pulls him in.

The taste of her explodes across his tongue as she kisses him. Their lips caress just as sweetly as he'd always imagined. He shivers from the nearest of her thoughts, the threshold of her mind so near, so undefended.

"Lovely, lovely," he murmurs as he kisses her, and she hums in contentment.

At length they pull apart.  Humans need to catch their breath.  He smiles down at her and she smiles happily up at him.

"Time Lords don't do that sort of thing," he says, and his smile remains undimmed.

"What do they do?" she asks, a little breathless, and her lips, well-kissed, are even more stunning than before.

"Nothing much,"  he says, laughing a little.

"What about you?" she prompts.

"I wouldn't want to frighten you," he growls, smile a little more arrogant now that he knows she really wants him.

"Try me!" she says.

"Well," he drawls,  "my body is mapping itself to yours— learning your physiology, synching up — that's how we can dance so well together."

"Oh?" Rose sighs.  "And?"

The Doctor hasn't stopped dancing, this whole time, leading her so effortlessly it feels like they're floating.

"And," the Doctor answers meaningfully.  "But, for the full experience, our minds should be in synch as well."

"Like, you take over my mind?" Rose says, her brow crinkling a little. She's a bit paranoid about mind control.

"No — more like our minds can touch, or glide against one another — or with the deepest connection, we would share each other's consciousness.  You could look inside my mind, my thoughts, my dreams — if you want."  He can feel himself blushing furiously, suggesting something so wildly intimate, but Rose doesn't look too repelled.

"Would you be okay with that?" Rose asks.  "It'd be pretty dull in here for you," she says, shaking her head a little.  

"I've seen little glimpses — only in passing — and I don't think it looks dull at all," the Doctor says.

"But you — in your head — you seem so private — " Rose says, blushing, as though she really did understand the intimacy of what he'd suggested.

"I am," he agrees, sincerely — "but it's worth it to me — to open my mind to you, Rose —" His voice has fallen away and he's shaking a little at the risk he's taking.  

"Do it," she says again, and relaxes against him, into his hold, as he leads her through the dance to the peaceful strains of music.  

"It's a deeper sort of kiss," the Doctor says.

"Okay," Rose says again.  

As she lifts her face to him expectantly, he guides her right hand to join her left at the nape of his neck, and he lifts his fingers tenderly to her temple, letting himself in as delicately as he can.  

Simultaneously, he lowers his lips again to hers, and their deepened kiss is full of fire and song as their minds meet and sparkle against one another for the very first time — but he feels as though they have known one another forever.  Rose's mind meets his with energy and clarity, as bright and strong as ever.  Her emotions sweep over him like a wave — happiness, excitement, desire...

"I love you, Doctor," Rose's thoughts are chanting, "I love you, I love you."   He feels her embrace as she pulls him inside her, deeper, deeper.

"I love you too, my Rose!" he answers, overcome as she takes him deep, down into her core, and he feels so sheltered, so adored, so tenderly and passionately held — he allows himself an instant, just one instant of soaking her in.

He lets go.

All his pain, his terror and rage, despair and desolation — all that is gone in that instant, washed away by the ocean depths of her love.

All he can feel is joy and gratitude, bliss as she makes him new, stroking and praising him, telling him how wonderful and beloved he is.  

The blackened scars on his psyche will remain, but soothed now, healing as she promises never to leave him.  He knows, in his head, it's a promise no one can keep — but allowing himself to believe that promise, offered to him with all of her sincerity, transforms him, and his joy is like a supernova, burning so brightly, flooding every part of him with the glorious light of love — he can do nothing less than reflect and channel his own incredible bliss back into Rose's mind.

"Oh, Doctor!" she sings, as the pleasure washes through her mind and out into her body.  Even as they are still dancing, he holds her up as her body shakes with the throes of passion he's unleashed inside her.  

He is kissing her still as this moment stretches on, on, on... he gives her, for this moment, the eternity of the Time Lords, a gift he knows they squandered, but one he lavishes on this precious girl.  He stretches her out on the rack of his pleasure, teasing every nerve, every synapse with the glorious energies of their joining.  Humans don't do it this way, he knows, but Rose's body feels his mental caresses as though they are physical, as though she hangs helpless while he works his will upon her, lifting her up in a fierce embrace and soaring with her to greater and greater heights of ecstasy, until finally, her mind can take no more, her consciousness fading into a golden whiteness of pure bliss.  

Gently, reluctantly, he withdraws himself, pulling back his energies as he goes, letting her catch her breath and draw her mental barriers around herself.

Miraculously, only moments have passed.  They are still dancing.  That same old song, so serene, is still playing.  He pulls his lips away from hers as she takes a shuddering breath.  

"Oh, Doctor," she sighs, and the look in her eyes is one that will give him strength for the rest of his days.  "You really do have the moves," she says, with a shaky smile.  

He smiles back, and they keep dancing.  

"You guys are so sweet," Jack says, and all of a sudden they're in the cabin of Jack's ship. "Most folks notice when they've been teleported."

The Doctor just smirks down at Rose, and she beams up at him, stepping away, keeping hold of his hand.  

  



End file.
